


Tight

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Bondage, Breath Control, Come Marking, Coming Untouched, Corset, M/M, Protective Jared Padalecki, Risky Kink, Worried Jared Padalecki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Jared discovers Jensen’s secret, he’s beyond angry at the stupid risks his friend has been taking.But he knows Jensen won’t stop, so Jared comes up with the only possible solution.That turns out differently than he expected.





	Tight

**Author's Note:**

> So, this never happened.

Jensen keeps it in a large, plain white box, shoved to the back of the top shelf in the closet.

Nobody but him knows that it’s there; sometimes, lying in the dark, or passing by the room on the way to someplace else, he has to fight the urge to glance at the closed door, even in passing.

The pull to take the box down, open it, and take what’s inside out is pretty damn hard to resist sometimes.

But part of the pleasure is making himself wait.

Letting the need, the anticipation build until it crashes over him like standing on the beach with a storm whipping the waves onto the shore.

Only then does he let it carry him up the stairs, into the room, and reach up, hands shaking with sheer want, to lift the box down.

Like now.

He has nothing else to do today. He’s not expecting anybody, so it’s not likely he’ll get interrupted.

He switches on the answering machine, turns off his cell, and makes sure the bedroom curtains are tightly shut. 

Only then does he strip, taking it slow, removing each item and then folding it and putting it in the laundry hamper.

Then Jensen lifts the lid from the box, carefully opens the paper wrapping inside, and takes the corset out.

He can still remember the day he took one of the biggest risks of his life, grateful still that the promise of complete confidentiality by the small family company had been kept.

Getting fit for it had been kind of embarrassing, standing in just his boxers while a young woman wrapped a measuring tape around various parts of his body, but it had been so worth it.

He undoes the ties new, the laces new, a little stiff, and lies the open frame flat on the bed.

He takes out the scissors he keeps in the drawer, puts them on top of the nightstand, and puts the lube next to it.

And then he loosely fastens the lower third of the laces and slips the corset over his head and upper body.

The corset settles into place like it remembers him, the fabric smooth and firm under his hands.

Fastening it behind his back is easier these days than those first few times. He used to need the full length mirror, and the knots he tied were clumsy, untidy.

Now they’re even and precise and he pulls the lower laces to a snug fit before threading up the rest of the eyelets until the corset sits comfortably right beneath his nipples.

Too comfortable. 

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and, on the exhale, pulls the laces at the top of the corset in another inch.

Feels the cinch around his ribs, his stomach.

Then he does it again. Inhales...holds….finds it harder this time, the stiff supports fighting the effort….exhales, and then tugs the laces in one last impossible fraction before he knots them off: once, twice, three times.

It’s difficult to lie down on the bed, feeling like his waist is a welded hinge, but he manages, and reaches over for the lube.

He’s already feeling a little dazed as he uncaps the tube and slicks up his hands, but that’s normal; each breath takes determination, and he paces himself as he takes hold of his dick.

It’s already hard, leaking, and he bites his lip at just how good that first touch is, even the lightest stroke along his curved length.

He works himself a little harder then, timing it with the rasps of air in and out of his confined lungs; it’s not going to take much, he’s made himself wait for it, and sure enough two more strokes and he comes hard, streaking himself with cum.

And this is where it gets tricky.

This is where he has to be quick, but careful.

Sitting up leaves him lightheaded, the room a little spinny.

He tries to take a breath, and it feels like he can’t.

That’s just his imagination; air is getting into him, just not enough.

The scissors are only inches from his hand.

He picks them up, fumbles a little as he twists his arm behind his back, feels for the loops and the knots between them.

Slipping the tip of one blade between the corset, and his back, and the laces takes a precision that’s hard to find when his lungs are aching with the need to take not even a deep breath, just one that’s free, unimpeded.

And urgent, now, so urgent.

He feels the scissors slip into the right place, and snips, again, again, again.

The laces fall loose, but there’s more for him to do. He makes himself put the scissors back on the nightstand, hands shaking, and then reaches behind himself to pull the sides of the corset apart before dropping it onto the bed and then slumping down on top of it.

That first breath is like the first breath ever, and he can feel his heart hammering away behind his ribs, starting to slow and settle, like his breathing, changing from deep chest heaves, from gulping in what he was deprived of, to calming, letting the air flow into his body instead of sucking it in.

It’s only when he stops shaking that he realises he isn’t alone.

Jared’s standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open, looking as dumbstruck as Jensen’s ever seen him.

Fuck.

++

It’s nearly two days before Jared can even speak to Jensen. 

He’s still so full of anger, filled up and overflowing with it, at how stupid, dumbass a stunt Jensen pulled with that stupid, dumbass corset.

He doesn’t get it at all, why Jensen would wrap that thing around him at all, let alone so tight he couldn’t breathe right.

But it’s not that making him so furious he could explode.

It’s the fact that Jensen did it _alone_.

A lot of people die from doing stupid shit like that alone.

But when he told Jensen that, all he got was a hoarse reply...hoarse because Jensen half suffocated himself...that he knew what he was doing because he’d done it before.

Jared doesn’t know how many times, but he has the feeling it’s enough for Jensen to be unrealistically cocky about it.

He wonders how often he’s been reading scripts, or running, or jerking off the shower, while Jensen’s been lacing himself up, pulling that thing tighter still, until every breath takes a body jangling effort and is still, by no means, guaranteed.

And then, once he’s come, he still has to focus enough to cut his way out of it.

He remembers the bag of replacement laces in the box as he watched Jensen put the corset away.

Yeah, he’d done that lots before, and Jared knows he’s going to do it again.

He has a hard time focusing on anything else, finds himself texting or calling Jensen at random moments, threatening to come over if Jensen doesn’t answer him straight away.

Jensen does, a little grudged, but seeming to get Jared needs to know he hasn’t accidentally asphyxiated himself.

But regardless, Jared knows Jensen will do it again, lie there struggling and alone, and rolling the dice on whether or not he’ll be able to cut the laces in time before he passes out with no one to help him.

No.

It’s maybe 2am in the morning when Jared just can’t anymore, and then he rolls over and grabs his cell, opens up a text.

 _ **Next time...you don’t do it unless I’m there**_.

He hits send before he can listen to his brain screaming at him and then slumps back, presses his hands against his face.

Their friendship’s survived a whole lot of shit. It’s survived him finding out Jensen’s a big fan of autoerotic asphyxiation, at least he thinks so.

He hopes it’ll survive him sending his friend a message offering to watch him jerk himself off while he slowly suffocates.

It’s maybe ten minutes late when his phone chimes.

Jared can hardly dare to pick it up, but he does so anyway. 

_**Ok**_.

Okay.

Jared laughs, shaky with relief and disbelief. Like he just asked Jensen to the game, or to come over and watch a movie.

Fucking Jensen.

++

They need to set some ground rules.

Jensen calls Jared over the next day. He doesn’t usually play so soon after the last session, but he’s on edge now, and Jared’s text message won’t get out of his head.

Jared’s actually willing to sit there and watch him to make sure he’s okay.

On the one hand, it annoys the shit out of him. He knows what he’s doing, this is what he needs, and now Jared’s clomping all over it with his concern and his certainty that he knows best when what Jensen knows is that Jared’s probably never seen a guy in a corset in real life let alone the rest of it.

But he’s also beyond touched that Jared is willing to sit there and watch him to make sure he’s okay.

And beneath that…. Jensen won’t deny there’s something else, be it a suspicion or a hope, it has no place and no point either way, and he stifles it viciously.

Jared’s a friend looking out for a friend, in totally embarrassing circumstances, and it’s never going to be more than that.

He keeps telling himself that same thing as Jared shifts uneasily in the chair Jensen set up for him, facing the bed, looking like he’s the one about to get laced into a corset.

“You don’t interfere,” Jensen says. “Not unless I signal to you or I actually pass out. No matter what else.”

“Jesus,” Jared mutters, and Jensen scowls at him.

“If you can’t handle it, Jay…”

“No. No, I can, I got it. Paws off, I just sit here and...don’t do anything unless you tell me or you pass out.”

Watch. Jensen doesn’t know why, but he’s sure Jared was about to say _sit here and watch_ and suddenly he feels his chest tighten as if he’s already cinched himself up.

“Unless I signal you,” he says. “I won’t be able to speak.”

Jared pales, and Jensen hopes he can get that under control, because Jared is asking Jensen to trust him, and Jensen does, but this is different.

He strips off then, but it’s more awkward with Jared watching. Part of him acknowledges he could go do that in the bathroom, or keep his boxers on, or get a screen or something, but why should he?

Jared’s presence is already throwing him off, and threatening to take what he had, what he needs, and make it into something that’s no good to him anymore.

Spoiled.

He’s angrier than he knows he should be when he tugs on the corset, rougher when he pulls on the laces and threads the rest of them into place.

Definitely pulls them tighter than usual, and he knows there’s a part of him that feels like he needs to put Jared in his place, prove to him that he can do this and not hurt himself.

The more cautious part gets a little drowned out, and then Jensen’s knotted into the corset and he slumps back onto the bed instead of the controlled recline he normally does.

When he jerks off, it’s sloppy and rushed, uneven, and his pleasure is tauntingly just out of reach.

Maybe because his best friend is watching him fuck up giving himself a handjob.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

++

Jared’s almost glad when Jensen flops back on the bed, eyes screwed shut, because it means he’s not able to notice the massive fucking hard on Jared’s suddenly encumbered with.

He can’t fight the racing burn inside him, either, and can’t believe himself; is he really getting off to this?

To Jensen angrily stripping, tying himself into that corset, so tight that Jared can hear the wheeze as his lungs struggle to pull in air.

This should not be turning him on.

But it is. Just like the frustrated jerking motion as Jensen tries to push himself uphill to that crest, and Jared can tell he isn’t going to reach it.

“Do you want me to help?”

He doesn’t even recognise his own voice, heavy with lust and need.

Jensen’s hand, wrapped tight around his dick, jerks to a stop. He manages to lift his head, and his eyes are red, tears building, his cheeks flush.

“I think you do,” Jared says. He hopes he’s not wrong on this, but holy shit, this is not the kind of thing that best friends do.

Not this.

“I think you want me to come over there and push your hands away, and take over. I think you want me to make you come, while you’re struggling to breathe. And then I think you want me to cut you loose.

“Jensen?”

It takes a moment, then Jensen nods, head jerking harshly.

Jared comes out of the chair like it was electric, and stalks over to the bed, and then his eyes fall on the scissors, lying close at hand on top of the nightstand.

He doesn’t know why he does it...maybe somehow he and Jensen are on the same wavelength here...but he picks them up and puts them back in the drawer.

And then, before Jensen can do anything else, Jared flips him onto his front.

Beyond the triple knots lying between Jensen and the ability to breathe without his chest being constricted, there’s a fair length of lace available, and Jared works fast.

He tugs Jensen’s wrists behind him, and quickly wraps the spare lacing around them, knotting them up tight, making sure Jensen won’t get loose.

When he flips Jensen back over, there’s a look on his face, something dark and wild and _hungry_ and he knows…

He’s giving Jensen exactly what he wants.

He watches Jensen’s chest heaving beneath the corset, or trying to, and does the quickest job ever of lubing himself up with one hand, while he uses the other to roughly work Jensen open.

Time’s literally running out, to the point where he sees that he can’t wait any longer, and pushes inside his friend.

It’s tight and rough and Jensen jerks with the shock of it, but there’s no time to let him adjust.

Somehow, Jared knows Jensen doesn’t want that time anyway.

He writhes helplessly on Jared’s cock, tugging at the lacing wrapped around his wrists, skin growing redder and redder as breathing goes from being difficult to a struggle to verging on impossible.

But Jared watches him, and reaches up to press two fingers against Jensen’s pulse, feels it thunder.

Still, he keeps fucking into Jensen, and is beyond grateful when he comes, body shuddering in ways that have nothing to do with an orgasm.

Jared pulls out, hard, aching, doesn’t care, and grabs the scissors out of the drawer.

He flips Jensen over again, roughly, and having to cut the knots around his wrists first slows him down, takes precious seconds in getting to those more important cords, the ones standing between Jensen and being able to breathe.

But Jared gets them, sliding the blade between lace and fabric, clumsily cutting, doing the job all the same, and then tossing the scissors aside and using brute strength to tear the corset open.

He grabs Jensen’s shoulders, rolls him onto his back, puts one hand on Jensen’s chest, and the other on his cheek.

Jensen coughs, wheezes, coughs again. His breathing sounds like it hurts, and holy shit, Jared is more scared then than he can remember being at any other time in his entire life.

“Jen. Jen, are you okay?”

Jen rubs at his throat, and Jared nods. He has to hurt, but then Jensen gives him the thumbs up sign.

It’s not enough, but Jared figures all he can expect for now. 

And then Jensen glances pointedly down at his, Jared’s cock, still hard, white beading at the tip.

It doesn’t seem to matter then, but Jensen’s face says differently.

He lies there, panting, and runs his hands teasingly down his chest, and abdomen.

This is the most fucked up thing Jared’s ever done, but all the same the lure of it is too strong to resist.

He fists himself, and it doesn’t take much before he’s there, marking Jensen’s body with his come.

Then he slumps down next to Jensen, breathing nearly as hard as his friend.

“Fucking insane,” he groans.

Jensen rolls over to him, grinning, and leans in close enough to whisper roughly in his ear.

“Yeah, but you loved it.”

Yeah. Yeah, he did.


End file.
